Anatomy of a Murder
by Jillian Mastrano 101
Summary: Charlie Perkins thought saving Spencer Reid would be the most exciting thing to happen to her that day. She was wrong.
1. The Day They Met

**The Day They Met**

**1993**

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Charlie Perkins muttered to herself as she ripped her keys out of the ignition of her car. It was a Wednesday. How could she have forgotten it was a Wednesday?

As the older sibling, it was sixteen year old Charlie's job to pick up her younger brother, Riley from soccer practice. With their mother at work: lecturing at the local university, it was entirely Charlie's responsibility to pick up Riley on Wednesday afternoons. As she struggled to pull her brother's oversized soccer bag out of her car, it was hard to believe she had first relished the task upon getting her licence.

Fighting the urge to swear again as the stupid bag caught on the stupid steering wheel, Charlie exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes heavenwards. It was dusk, and the thought of Riley waiting by himself for half an hour renewed her sense of urgency as she yanked the bag out and slammed the car door. As she hurried under the familiar sign proudly promoting "Las Vegas High School", she scanned the sports oval for her brother. She was a junior at the school, and was all too familiar with the area Riley's soccer team practiced on Wednesdays.

As she scanned the oval though, there was no sign of her brother. No sign of anyone actually, much to the disappointment of her panicked heart.

As she walked further onto the field, her eyes caught sight of a piece of paper taped to one of the goalposts. "Training cancelled," she read aloud, sighing in disappointment. Instead of waiting, Riley had probably walked home, Charlie decided. Their house was probably a twenty minute walk from here - inconvenient, but still possible.

Charlie was just turning back to her car, visions of the inevitable fight she'd have with her mother about letting her brother walk home playing through her mind, when she heard it. The sniffles of a sobbing child.

As she hesitantly moved towards the source of the noise, Charlie curiously peered past the referee hut and uncovered the source of the crying almost instantly. She made out the frame of a small boy tied to one of the goal posts. A naked, blindfolded boy, with blood running down his wrists from where they were bound. Her heart sunk to the soles of her feet, and she started running towards him.

As she got closer, she recognised the boy as the child prodigy that belonged to the senior class at her school. They'd never been introduced, or even spoken before, but Charlie knew he had it pretty rough. Only twelve years old and possibly smarter than every student at her high school? Poor kid was never going to have it easy. And never had she met anyone so cruel as the deemed "popular" kids at her school, and those people that craved their acceptance. He was an easy target for the bullies. And they'd obviously found their mark, she thought.

As she got closer, disappointment in her peers swelled so strongly within her that she wanted to cry. He was naked and blindfolded. His wrists were raw from his struggles, and his cheeks shone with tears under his blindfold.

"Hello," she said softly, trying not to startle him.

The blindfolded face turned to the sound of her voice. "Help me," he begged, his throat hoarse. Charlie's throat tightened as she imagined him calling for help as people looked and laughed on.

"I'm going to help you. You're going to be fine," she said, endeavouring to keep her tone as calm as possible, even as her hands shook slightly. "My name's Charlie Perkins. And I'm going to take the blindfold off you now, okay?"

Charlie reached out to untie the blindfold, struggling desperately to ignore the fact that he was naked. It took her a few tries to loosen the blindfold, which was tied so tightly Charlie despaired at one point she'd never get it off. Finally it gave way to reveal the tear-stained face of a small, scared child. She tried to smile reassuringly back at him. "Okay," she said kindly, "I'm just going to untie you now, and then we'll get you back home, okay?"

"My clothes," he whispered.

"I have a spare pair in my bag," Charlie said. It was the first time she'd ever felt thankful for that ridiculously large bag her mother insisted her brother have at every soccer practice.

"Why don't you tell me your name?" she suggested as she worked on untying his wrists. Inwardly, she cursed herself. Had there ever been a more obvious distraction tactic?

"Spencer," he said quietly.

"Pleasure to meet you, Spencer," she said, as she struggled with the binds on his wrists. They were a lot tighter than the blindfold, probably due to Spencer's struggles. "I'm a junior here at school with you, so technically you're my senior. How old are you?"

"Twelve," Spencer whispered quietly, clearing his throat a little.

"Marvellous age," Charlie replied confidently, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Mind you, I didn't have to worry about high school bullies when I was twelve," she muttered crossly as one of her nails chipped a little in her attempt to loosen the binds. "Stupid acceleration program."

Then Spencer asked the one question she would never have the answer for.

"Why?" he choked out, a new wave of tears washing over his face. "Why did they do this?"

Charlie stopped working for a second, considering how to answer. "I don't know," she said at last, doing her best to convey her sympathy as her eyes met his shining ones. "I believe with all my heart that it will get better though," she said, turning back to his binds and feeling a little encouraged as they gave a little. "One day, this will just be an unhappy memory, and we'll have our successful jobs, and great relationships, and everything we ever wanted, and this will just become that small part of our lives that doesn't matter anymore. And – YES!" she gave a little triumphant yell as the binds finally gave away and Spencer could move his hands down again.

As Spencer moved to cover himself, Charlie fetched the spare pair of clothes from her brother's soccer bag. She waited for Spencer to get changed, and fetched some tissues from the first aid pocket to wipe his face. He might be a child genius, but in that moment, all Charlie saw was a small boy, who had been hurt and scared and wanted to go home.

"Let's get out of here," she said to him, watching relief light up Spencer's face for the first time since she'd seen him.

* * *

As Spencer gave her directions to his house, she allowed him to flip through the numerous books she had sprawled throughout her car in hopes of providing him further distraction. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to give the child prodigy with freaky deaky reading powers six books and hope that would distract him for long.

He was done with all her school reading and even her personal reading books within ten minutes of the drive. After about two minutes of his restless foot tapping, she chucked her textbooks at him. Probably not her safest driving moment, but she conformed to her circumstances. When he was done with that about five minutes later, she gestured to her workbooks at his feet. Again, probably not her best distraction tactic, but she was running out of options. It proved to be a fantastic distraction though.

"Your illustrations of human anatomy are impeccable," Spencer said, tracing his fingers over her carefully labelled diagrams. "The amount of detail is extremely impressive. And the quantity! You've covered all the systems of the human body!" he said excitedly, looking at her with wonder shining in his eyes. Charlie felt a little weight lift off her heart at the amazement on his face. Maybe he'll be okay after all, she thought hopefully. "This is above and beyond the requirements for the junior criteria," Spencer continued, flipping through her book much more slowly now, stopping on a page every now and then to admire her representations of the human body and to quickly skim her notes.

Charlie shrugged. "My mum lectures about anatomy at the university," she said simply. "It's always been fascinating to me."

"It's brilliant," he said, giving her his first smile of the evening.

After a moment of silence, Charlie decided to tear him away from his book. "You know I have a younger brother about your age?"

"Really? What's his name?"

"Riley. I was meant to pick him up from his soccer training, actually. That's why I was at the oval this afternoon."

"Oh," Spencer was quiet for a moment. Just as Charlie was beginning to fear she'd pushed him back into memories of his bullying, he spoke again: "You seem like a good sister," he observed. "Picking up your brother in the afternoon. Lugging around that huge bag…"

Charlie smiled a little at that. "I was actually a bit late this afternoon. But yeah, Riley means a lot to me. No Dad in the picture, so it's just me, Riley and Mum. We're all pretty close."

"It's just me and my mum too," Spencer said, eagerly. "We're close too, but sometimes –"

He cut off, and Charlie didn't push him to talk. They drove in comfortable silence, when they finally pulled up at Spencer's house, she couldn't help but feel a little sad to see him go.

"Okay, we're here," she said as they pulled to a stop, reaching over to pluck her workbook from Spencer's hands.

"Thank you," Spencer said quietly, looking down at his lap. Charlie caught a flash of pain on his face before he looked away, as the memories of the afternoon caught up with him again.

"No worries," she said. "And remember what I said. High school will be a really small part of our lives in like, ten years. So in the meantime, don't be a stranger at school, okay? Come say hi."

"Okay," Spencer affirmed, a small hopeful smile lighting up his face.

"Weirdos unite!" she laughed, reaching out to give him a one-armed hug. "Now, off you go. Your mother's probably worried."

She watched as Spencer walked all the way to his front door and waved goodbye before she finally started home.

* * *

When Charlie pictured coming home, she imagined the worst she would face would be her Mum's concerned anger at her being late without an explanation – especially as she hadn't driven Riley home. She imagined trying to calm her Mum as she raged. She imagined her Mum calming down as she realised both her children were safe at home and okay. She imagined sitting around the dinner table and laughing with her family as they exchanged stories about their days.

Nothing happened the way she imagined it.

As she pulled into her street, she saw her house was illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights of police cars, and she knew something was wrong.

The first thing she saw her Mum's tear stained face.

The dread pooled in her stomach as her Mum threw her arms around her in a rib crushing hug, and a moment later began shaking her so hard her head shook around painfully.

Numb to the pain where her mother was griping her arms tightly, she felt hollow as she listened to her mother's screams:

"WHERE IS YOUR BROTHER?"

"WHERE IS RILEY?"


	2. Living Ghosts

**Living Ghosts**

**2006**

**Thirteen years later.**

"I'd like to propose a toast… in honour of my daughter, Charlie Perkins."

Charlie looked up as every head at the dinner table turned to eyeball her. "Thank you, Mother," she spoke through clenched teeth, her face adorned with an obviously fake smile.

It was her house warming. And she was suffering.

Firstly, she'd only moved to Quantico a month ago, and therefore did not have any friends she could invite to help her get through this night of hell. She had a cousin nicknamed "Mae" or something that she had been seriously close to when they were young, but they hadn't talked in years. It wouldn't be appropriate.

And Cousin Mae hadn't answered her phone.

Secondly, her scarcely furnished apartment did not have the capacity to accommodate for the parade her mother had introduced to it. Charlie still hadn't even fully unpacked, and her mother had decided that it was a good idea to summon all her middle aged, borderline alcoholic friends and high tail from Las Vegas to throw her a party.

Rolling her eyes, Charlie downed what was left of her first vodka martini. Despite her many flaws, Mother Perkins was excellent at making vodka martinis.

And the icing on her cake of suffering – the third point – was that she already knew her mother was going to spout forth some mortifying and irritating speech. And she had been drinking gin and tonic like it was water all night.

Her mother cleared her throat. "Before Charlie graduated nearly eleven years ago from Las Vegas High School, she announced to me that she wanted to be a doctor. And I thought my heart would stop. I was probably the only mother in the world who didn't want her child to become a doctor. But we were only just holding on to our sanity – I couldn't imagine letting her go." Here, her mother's voice wavered a little.

Charlie forcibly unclenched her hands from the white table cloth, and tried to fight the emotions that still continued to plague her – thirteen years later – whenever she thought about her brother.

Guilt. The consuming guilt that threatened to break her if she wallowed in it for too long. She'd gone over the _what ifs_ a thousand times over. What if she hadn't been late? What if her brother had waited? What if she'd checked to see if training was on?

Anger. Burning hot rage when she tried to think about why someone would abduct a twelve year old boy from his already broken family.

And she and her mother never talked about Riley. Charlie turned to her studies, consumed by all her anger and guilt. And her mother turned to alcohol. Watching her mother now, Charlie felt the bitterness wash over her as she watched her mother sway on her feet.

"And so –" her mother boomed, drawing the attention back to her, "I watched my baby move out of home for the first time. And I watched her accelerate through her program due to her "advanced knowledge of anatomy." Even though she hated the acceleration program."

"Still do," Charlie muttered, staring at the olive in the bottom of her glass.

"And then I watched her move halfway across the country again to complete a very fancy internship at a very fancy university. And then, low and behold, during her residency she picked her specialty to be anatomical pathology! And then –" her mother leant over, crippled by her laughter as though she was delivering the punch line to the best joke in the world "–she does a fellowship in forensic pathology! At another fancy university halfway across the country! My daughter, the doctor who accelerated through a medical degree, looks at dead people all day and then tells the police how they died!"

At this, the entire table of women who were well and truly sloshed at this point, burst out into laughter. Charlie felt her hands clench the tablecloth so hard she doubted the crinkles would ever come out.

_Deep breaths, _she told herself. _Murdering your mother would be bad. Just deep breaths and count to ten._

_1…_

_2…_

"You'd think we've had enough tragedy for a lifetime, but no! My daughter wants to waste her life away looking at dead people!"

_3…_

"She hasn't stayed in one place for more than four years since she left home!"

_4…_

_5…_

"Twenty-nine, and not a serious boyfriend in sight!"

_6…_

_7…_

_8… _

The crescendo of laughter was threatening to break through Charlie's tenuous self-control.

_9…_

"Sometimes I wonder if she ever really misses her brother at all!"

_10._

Charlie stood up so fast her chair crashed to the floor. The tablecloth, which was still tangled in her tightly clenched fists, was yanked towards her as she stood up. Everyone's cocktail glasses either tipped over, or crashed to the floor with a shattering sound that was sweet to her ears.

"I am _trying_," she bit out, her voice breaking with emotion. Clearing her throat a little, she continued: "I. Am. Trying. I have been trying for _thirteen years _to make a life for myself in the wake of a horrible tragedy. And I'm sorry if my grieving doesn't involve drowning myself in so much alcohol that I can't _function_, but I am _trying _to make a life for myself. And I'm freaking sorry if my job _irritates _you, but I have found something I'm good at. Something that helps people – even if you can't see that. I'm so bloody good, they used to call me the _Queen of the Underworld _at my old job! In fact, I'm so good the FB-bloody-I offered me a job at their laboratory in Quantico_ so that I could help more people_!"

By now, her voice had risen to a yell. Realising that, Charlie closed her eyes and took three more deep breaths. "This is why I don't come home," she whispered into the silence. "Your own daughter is now a fully qualified FBI agent – with a badge and everything – and you can't see anything more than how much I've disappointed you."

Releasing the tablecloth, she stepped away from the table, grabbed her bag and walked to the door. Turning around, she looked at the scene she had left. A table full of middle aged women, staring at her in stunned silence, surrounded by smashed glass and spilled drinks.

It was all a bit ridiculous if you looked at it objectively.

"I'm going out for a drink," she called out over her shoulder as she grabbed her coat. "I trust you can see yourselves out."

The door slammed shut behind her.

* * *

"Hi, I'm Brad."

Charlie sighed, as she turned around to face the man behind her. She'd been in the bar for all of five minutes. The bartender hadn't even served her yet.

"Hello," she said curtly, taking a moment to look over the fine specimen that was "Brad".

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"No."

But the bugger was persistent. "What do you do?"

"Nothing."

"Well… I'm not meant to tell you this… but I work for the FBI."

"Do you now?" Charlie replied, turning around to face him. "What department?" she asked with a frown.

"Confidential," Brad replied, topping it off with a wink.

At this, Charlie smiled. It was just Brad's unlucky day. That he would happen to hit on an actual FBI agent whilst posing as an FBI agent. Had it been a better day, Charlie may have let him go with just a scathing remark, but she'd endured a house warming party with her drunken mother. She was not in an overly generous mood.

"Well, that's funny," she said, getting off her stool. "Because I think a _real _FBI agent would not be flaunting his profession as a line to pick up women in bars."

Brad scoffed, and started to look away, but Charlie wasn't finished.

"In fact, I think a _real _FBI agent – a real _man, _even – wouldn't need to pretend to be something he's not to get a woman into his bed. So please don't kid yourself into thinking you have a shot in hell with me," she said scathingly, before she attempted to stalk away from him, but Brad had other ideas.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, you emasculating bitch," Brad-the-charmer hissed.

"Is there a problem here?"

An authoritative female voice broke through the noise. Charlie turned around to see a group of three women standing in a semi-circle around her and the not-FBI-agent-Brad. All were attractive women, two blondes and one brunette.

"Hi," the brunette said, "I'm Emily, and this is JJ and Garcia," she said, gesturing to the women beside her. "Don't tell me you've met Brad?"

"He was just leaving," Charlie said, smugly looking at him. Brad-the-slimeball's hand tightened around her arm for a moment, before he let go and stormed off.

"Thank you, ladies," Charlie said, shooting them a smile.

"He tried that line on us ten minutes ago," JJ said. "Pleasure to help."

"You, my fiery-haired goddess, seemed to get him all riled up. You must let me in on your secrets one day," Garcia said, smiling at her.

Charlie smiled at the quirky women before her, taking an instant liking to them. "May I buy you all a drink?" she said, a small smile creeping onto her face for the first time that day.


	3. Opportunity, Thy Name is Hotchner

**Opportunity, Thy Name is Hotchner**

**2006**

**1 month later**

"Oh, hey there!"

Charlie jerked awake as the elevator doors opened. Blinking groggily, she made out the form of a man and a woman standing in front of her. Charlie narrowed her eyes a little in confusion. After a few seconds she recognised the speaker as Garcia.

Since the night at the bar, Charlie had gone on two other 'girls nights' with Garcia, JJ and Prentiss, and been frequently texting Garcia - mostly a large amount of funny cat pictures. It had been a month, and she now considered all three women her friends, which was a big step. Three new friends within two months of living in a new town? A first in her record.

"Hello," she croaked out, doing her best to clear her throat.

"Charlie – Derek Morgan, Morgan – Charlie Perkins," Garcia introduced as she stepped into the elevator next to Charlie. "Charlie, this sweet stuff is my colleague up in the BAU," she continued, gesturing to Morgan as he joined them in the elevator. Turning back to Morgan, she continued: "Charlie works down in the laboratory as the chief medical examiner."

"Pleasure to meet you," Morgan said warmly.

"Likewise," Charlie replied with a yawn as she rubbed her eyes. "Sorry, just finished an all-nighter."

Garcia gave her a look. "You do realise it's the afternoon, right?"

"Sweet baby Jesus!" Charlie exclaimed, checking her watch. Groaning, she muttered, "I haven't been home since yesterday morning."

Ignoring the look Morgan and Garcia gave each other at her concession, she continued to sulk: "I'm meant to have a date tonight too."

"My antisocial workaholic friend actually has a date tonight?" Garcia exclaimed delightedly. Charlie shot Garcia a dirty look as they stepped out of the elevator and started walking through the foyer.

"I would have turned him down straight up, but he works as a barista at the cafe across the road, and he smells of heavenly coffee _all the time_." Charlie sighed in reluctance and looked at her watch. "No way am I going on a date after the case I just had, though," Charlie said reluctantly. "Urgent case involving some dead children came through last night. So I was up doing the autopsies for ages."

"That doesn't sound healthy," Morgan said hesitantly.

"Remind you of anyone?" Garcia muttered at Morgan with a small smile.

"It was urgent," Charlie said, as though that explained everything. "They caught the guy, case closed."

"Well, I wouldn't be so quick to turn down your date," Garcia said cheekily. "New Year's Eve is fast approaching. You don't want to be left without someone to kiss at midnight."

"Garcia, forget it. My number one priority right now, is to get home and enjoy a glorious sleep in my own comfortable bed."

"Doctor Perkins!"

"Or not…" Charlie muttered under her breath, turning around with a polite smile on her face. An FBI agent was approaching her: late thirties, black hair and clearly a higher upper.

"Hotch?" Garcia and Morgan seemed to recognise the man in front of her.

"Doctor Perkins, I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. Also called Hotch," he added, nodding towards Garcia and Morgan. "Tomorrow morning my team is going to lead a local case that's going to blow up all over the media. We've done all the profiling we can so far, but we haven't had any forensic break throughs yet that can help us with our profile. I was wondering if you could look over the case and provide us with something to go on tomorrow."

"Agent Hotchner, I'm the chief medical examiner," Charlie said, the smile slipping from her face as she assumed her role of authority. "I already know about your serial killer who creates sculptures from his victims. It's a unique case. I've assigned two of my finest colleagues to the job."

"But they've given me no valuable insight," Hotch pushed. "Your reputation precedes you, Dr Perkins. I'm sure you can provide us something to work with."

"I'm sorry Agent Hotchner, but we got slammed in the morgue last night with the dead bodies of five young children," she said, in what her colleagues described as her 'scary voice.' "Our input helped put a dangerous predator in jail. Forgive me if my staff haven't been able to look at your case yet," she added sarcastically.

Garcia and Morgan stood there frozen, uncertain how to act. "Awkward," Garcia hissed to Morgan.

"I never meant to insinuate that your team is not doing the best they can," Hotch said calmly. "But if you could just look over the case-" he said as he placed the case files in her hands "-I'm sure you'd find it interesting."

Charlie shot Hotch a dirty look, as she resisted the temptation to open the folder in her hands. "You're taking advantage of my workaholic behaviour," she accused.

"Maybe a little," Hotch admitted, fighting a smile.

"Not to mention my insomnia," she muttered crossly, peeking a little into the file. "Which I'm sure you already knew about."

"The dark shadows under your eyes kind of gives it away," Hotch said apologetically. "That wasn't a hard one to deduce."

Abandoning all pretence now, Charlie opened the file. As she looked over the initial pathology report, Charlie requested absently, "Agent Hotchner, please put that fancy watch to some use and tell me what the time is."

"Four in the afternoon," he said, slightly confused.

"Okay," Charlie said, closing the file. "I'm going to go home now and get some sleep. I haven't been home since yesterday morning. And I sort of fell asleep in the elevator two minutes ago. So, I'm going to go home, get some sleep, freshen up… So hopefully the next time you see me I might look like a normal, functioning human being, and professional work colleague."

"Does that mean-" Hotch began, with a questioning look on his face. Charlie held her hand up to interrupt him, and he cut off. She continued: "I'm going to look over the file tonight and come in early tomorrow morning to run my own tests. I'll meet with your team after to discuss my findings and hopefully then you can finally make a break in the case, and put an end to this jerk's killing spree."

"Did she just refer to a serial killer as a jerk?" Morgan whispered to Garcia.

"See you tomorrow, Agent Hotchner," Charlie said, with a note of finality. "I look forward to working with you all tomorrow," she said, including Garcia and Morgan in her farewells.

"Thank you, Dr Perkins!" Hotch called after her.

"You owe me," was her parting remark.

There was a moment of silence as Garcia, Morgan and Hotch just stood around after Charlie left.

"I think I like her," Morgan said with a smile. Shaking his head a little, he said goodbye and headed for the exit as well.

"Did I just make a mistake?" Hotch asked Garcia.

"What do you mean?" Garcia asked.

"I know she's your friend," Hotch began cautiously. "But she obviously has a lot of personal issues that she's yet to work through. I'm concerned I'm enabling her workaholic habits, which would continue to be of detriment to her."

"She can be bossy," Garcia said with a shrug. "And she likes her job. That doesn't mean she has a plethora of issues."

"Her entire personality reeks of childhood trauma and parent issues," Hotch said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You profilers," Garcia muttered. "Think of it this way: you'll have an inside track with one of the best medical examiners the FBI has. This is good. Good for the team; good for the people we help. You're doing good, Hotch," she said with a smile, as she crossed the foyer towards the exit.

Hotch waited until Garcia was gone, before he pulled out his phone.

"Hello, this is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner," he said. "I'd like to request the personal file of Chief Medical Examiner Doctor Charlie Perkins."

After a moment's pause, he added: "I think she could provide some valuable insight into any relevant future investigations, including field work performed by my team on the Behaviour Analysis Unit."

* * *

Charlie groaned as she tossed around in her bed. Checking the clock next to her bed, she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. "3am," she croaked. "Brilliant."

She'd had perhaps eight hours of very deep sleep once she got back home. Entirely enough to be functional for the rest of the day.

Pretending she wasn't lying to herself, Charlie swung her legs over the side of her bed and reached blindly for the file she'd tossed onto her desk before collapsing into her bed. As she scanned over the reports, she began to mutter to herself.

And then before she knew it, she was in her car, driving back to her laboratory.

By the time the rest of her colleagues began to trickle in the door four hours later, she was set to explode.

"Stop," she commanded to the three women and two men that stood in front of her. "Melissa," she beckoned to her assistant, "come over here and look at these reports, please."

As Melissa scurried over, Charlie turned a frosty glare back towards the rest of her team. "You are the two _expert medical examiners_ I assigned to the case of the serial killer who creates sculptures from his victims, correct?"

The two medical examiners and their assistants looked blankly back at her. "Yes," said one of the women, Doctor Banks. Doctor Banks was a senior medical examiner that was in line for the promotion of chief medical examiner before it was given to Charlie. There were some hard feelings.

"Then please explain to me how you failed to let an insight like this slip past you," Charlie said, furiously flailing the results of a toxin screen at her.

Doctor Banks' face flushed with anger. "Doctor Perkins, I can assure you, I did my best with the sculpture case in the short time I was given before I was called to assist with the case of the child predator."

"And you, Doctor Freeman?" Charlie said coldly, passing off the results to Melissa, who was caught between standing closer to her and standing back with the others.

One of the men straightened up, and stepped up to the figurative firing range. "I also didn't have much time with the case before being called to assist, but I asked my assistant-" he gestured to the woman standing behind him "-to send preliminary specimens for a toxin screen."

"And after you did this, you didn't think to follow up?" Charlie glared at them both. "Because had you actually looked at the report, you would have found that not only did all the victims have some form of illicit drug in their systems – a fact which would have very much helped the BAU develop their profile, by the way – but you also seemed to overlook the relevance of the report."

Turning away from her colleagues, she gestured to the bodies of the three dead women laid out around her. Pointedly, she gestured at the faces and hands of all of these women. "What do you see here, Melissa?" she asked, putting her assistant on the spot.

"No defensive wounds?" Melissa squeaked.

"No defensive wounds," repeated Charlie proudly. "Which would be not so unusual in the cases of victims one and two, on account of the tox screen showed they had heroin in their systems. Heroin, as we should all know, is a relaxant. On the other hand, victim number three had a high level of cocaine in her system. Cocaine agitates people. So it would make no sense that she has no defensive wounds, isn't that right, Doctor Freeman?"

"But the tox screen didn't show evidence of any sedatives," he said, a confused look passing over his face.

"Which means," Charlie continued, "that our murderer must have access to some good stuff. So I ran a second tox screen with widened parameters, and guess what I found? Clonazepam in all of them! So, my professional recommendation to the BAU will be that we are looking for someone with access to a high level of clonazepam and knowledge of how to correctly inject it intravenously."

"So, someone with medical training," concluded Doctor Banks.

"Yes," Charlie hissed. "As of now, Doctor Banks and Doctor Freeman, you are off this case. I will be taking over, and I expect better from you all next time," she added, grabbing the completed report. "I'm off to consult the BAU now. Please do your best to ensure you don't let any murderers get away with their heinous crimes before I return," she said, before she slammed the door behind her.


	4. And A Happy New Year

**And A Happy New Year**

**2006**

**New Year's Eve**

"I am a genius!" Charlie announced as she walked into the room.

Hotch smiled at her as she joined the table. "Glad you came," he said warmly. "May I introduce Doctor Charlie Perkins?" he said to the table. "Doctor Perkins, these are Agents Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan, and our media liaison, Jennifer Jareau."

"I've already met them all, thanks," Charlie said a bit hurriedly, eager to reveal her findings.

"Speaking of Doctors," Morgan said, "where's our resident genius?"

"He's gone out to look for Gideon," Hotch said, sadness tinging his words.

Charlie, sensing the mood at the table drop, sat down slowly. Resigning herself to being patient, she waited for someone to begin speaking again. Lucky she wasn't waiting too long.

Hotch cleared his throat and turned back to Charlie. "Garcia's already briefed us on the case, and we've constructed the best profile we can so far. I hope you've found something that'll give us some help?"

"Indeed I have," Charlie said proudly. Flipping open her pathology reports, she placed them on the table in front of her. "I found high levels of a sedative called clonazepam in the blood work for all the victims. It's a prescription drug for insomnia, but I think the 'unsub' – as you say – is using large quantities of this drug to sedate his victims before he kills them by asphyxiation and then uses their bodies to create sculptures."

There was a moment of silence. Morgan raised a dark eyebrow at her, and Charlie hurried to further elaborate: "By my estimate, it would take a large amount of clonazepam to sedate three women."

"Large enough to raise some red flags?" Morgan asked.

Charlie nodded. "Definitely. The conclusion I've come to is that someone with medical training committed these crimes. Doctors have access to sedatives. For a doctor with the right access, it wouldn't be hard to get the amount necessary for sedating three women."

"What about pharmacists?" Prentiss enquired.

"I looked into that, but the sedative was inserted intravenously in some very tricky veins that are hard to locate. Which is why my team missed them in the initial exam," Charlie explained, looking at Hotch. "So, pharmacists are out of the question. They don't have the adequate training required to locate the tricky veins. Now, I'd suggest that you could be looking for a patient with insomnia that's been harbouring his supply of clonazepam with criminal intent, but again, we're looking at the problem with tricky veins, so I think that scenario's out too."

Charlie paused a moment to look around the room. Seeing attentive faces, she continued firmly: "I stand by my initial judgement. My professional opinion is that you look for someone with medical training. Like, current doctors or previous ones. Or even someone that dropped out of med school."

"Thank you for your help, Doctor Perkins," Hotch said with a smile. "This is going a long way to help us with our profile."

"Happy to help," Charlie said with a smile, proud with her work.

"Garcia, did you get that?" Hotch addressed a screen at the front of the room that displayed Garcia's beaming face.

"Indeed I did, sir," Garcia said, giving Charlie a subtle thumbs up. "I'll refine our suspect list using those parameters now. The 'Queen of All Knowledge' will be back soon with an update," she farewelled with a little bow of her head before the screen blacked out.

Everyone in the room turned to look back at Hotch for instruction. "Okay, everyone file out. I want to talk to Doctor Perkins privately for a moment," Hotch announced.

Charlie raised her eyebrow, but Hotch didn't explain until everyone had left the room.

"Sooooo," Charlie dragged out the word. "What's up?"

"I want to talk to you about joining our team," Hotch stated seriously, watching Charlie carefully for her reaction.

Charlie frowned in confusion. "I don't do your profiling thing," she said slowly.

Hotch smiled. "Yes. I was thinking of taking you along as a consultant on our anatomically interesting cases. You are somewhat of an expert, Doctor Perkins, and I'd like to see your talents put to good use out in the field on active cases."

Charlie was quiet for a moment. "But I'm the chief of my division," she said, thinking it through. "I can't just go gallivanting around the country, all gung-ho with my crime fighter mojo and stuff. I have responsibilities here in Quantico."

"Then delegate your responsibilities," Hotch said simply. "This is a very rare opportunity for someone in your field of work, and I think your expertise could really benefit my team." Before Charlie could say anything more, he continued: "I don't expect you to have an answer now: it's a big decision. So sleep on it. We'll talk later. And in the meantime, here's my number," he said, handing her a card. "Call me with your decision."

* * *

That night, Charlie tossed and turned in her bed again. Sighing, she resigned herself to the inevitable fact that she wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight. Turning over, Charlie checked the clock. "11PM" shone back at her, and she groaned. She'd tried so hard to get an early night's sleep. She'd even gone to bed at nine, but sleep had still eluded her.

Feeling a little defeated, Charlie kicked back the covers she'd gotten tangled up in, and rolled out of bed. On her way to get some water, she noticed the flashing light going crazy on her answering machine. Pressing the play button, Charlie leaned against the door frame outside her kitchen and listened to the robotic voice of the answering machine fill her apartment.

_You have seven new messages. _

"_Hi Charlie, it's your mum. I was just wondering how you're going. Have you called Cousin Mae yet? You and her got along so well when you were younger…"_

Charlie unceremoniously pressed the delete button, with perhaps a little more force than what was necessary.

_Message deleted._

"_Hi Charlie… it's me again. I just wanted to talk to you. I just got back from Ladies Night at one of those little clubs down the road – you know the one – and they had really cheap drinks-"_

_Message deleted._

"_Hi Charlie, I just wanted to say sorry for saying you didn't miss Riley last time we saw each other. Of course you do, it was a horrible thing to say, and I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I just miss him so much-" _The sentence cut off with her mother's sobbing.

_Message deleted._

The sound of Mother Perkins hysterical sobbing rang out across the apartment. Charlie bit her lip hard and hit the delete button ferociously.

_Message deleted._

_Message deleted._

_Message deleted._

_You have no more new messages._

Charlie stood there for a second, chewing her lip. "Screw it," she muttered, heading for the kitchen. Rummaging around through her cupboards, she drew out an empty vodka bottle.

"Damn it!" she yelled, throwing it in the trash. Taking a few deep breaths, she counted to ten as she paced around the apartment. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," she muttered. She froze in a moment of indecision, before grabbing her coat and heading out the door.

* * *

Spencer Reid sat alone at the bar. To an outsider, it must have looked a little pathetic. New Year's Eve and he was sitting alone at one of the most moronically named bars he'd ever been in. Seriously, who called a bar "The Bar?" Spencer rolled his eyes, and took a nice big gulp of his fifth beer.

Suddenly, a girl stormed into the bar and unceremoniously plonked herself onto the seat next to Spencer. Spencer took in her appearance with an observant eye: medium length fiery red hair, slightly taller than average height and… Spencer couldn't hold back a small smile as he noticed that she was wearing mismatching pyjamas under her coat. Clearly she'd left her house in a hurry. Her face was twisted up in a ferocious scowl that normally would have made Spencer feel a little nervous about sitting next to her, but already he was feeling the buzz of alcohol that eradicated all his undesirable emotions. Which had been his aim, of course. Especially after finding Gideon's letter…

Taking another gulp of his beer, he turned back to the woman next to him. "One vodka martini," she ordered, her tone of voice suggesting to Spencer that she was someone from authority. The bartender nodded, and Spencer noticed as the tension eased from her shoulders. Probably dependent on alcohol to some degree, Spencer concluded.

As Spencer continued looking back to the flaming redhead next to him, in her mismatched pyjamas and messy hair, and he couldn't bring himself to continue profiling her. He just wanted to know why she had ended up at a bar near midnight on New Year's Eve, wearing a Star Wars shirt and shorts with cute little bowties all over them.

As the redhead received her drink and promptly downed half of it, Spencer still couldn't drag his eyes away from her. Something about her was familiar, niggling at the back of his memory, but he couldn't hold onto the thought.

"What are you looking at?" Redhead asked, turning to face him. Her tone was full of sass, and Spencer felt his nerves begin to creep up on him again. The realisation that he had been staring at her for a little longer than socially appropriate crashed down on him, and he winced.

"Sorry," he mumbled, cursing his social awkwardness. "I just… like your shirt," he said, a small smile crossing his face as he embraced the buzz of alcohol.

Redhead looked down at her Star Wars emblazed shirt. "I may or may not have left home in an extreme hurry," she confessed.

"No, it's… It's cute," Spencer decided. Watching as she gulped down the rest of her drink alarmingly quickly, Spencer frowned. "You're going to get drunk very quickly."

Redhead raised a very unimpressed eyebrow at him. "You're on your fifth beer. And you can't have been here long. It's an obnoxiously named bar. And it's New Year's Eve," she said, gesturing to all the bright streamers around them that were loudly proclaiming the fact. "Conclusion: you sir," she continued, poking him in the chest, "are _already_ drunk. So don't lecture me with the facts. I already know all of them."

"Fair enough," Spencer conceded, moving to tuck his hair behind his ears.

Redhead smiled at him, revealing a small gap between her two front teeth, and finished the rest of her drink. "Another, please," she called to the bartender.

Spencer watched Redhead as she absently began to tap her feet against the bar stool in time with the music. "So, stranger," she drawled. "What brings you to 'The Bar' on this fine evening?" her voice taking on a mocking tone.

Spencer inhaled slowly and took another gulp of his beer. He was quiet for a moment as he deliberated what to say. "A friend of mine left Quantico," he said truthfully, trying to keep the true depth of his sadness and hurt regarding Gideon's departure hidden, but the look on Redhead's face told him he wasn't doing very well at it.

"My condolences," she said quietly, evidentially deciding this was a topic best left private.

"What about you?" Spencer asked, hoping to steer the conversation on a more positive route. But if anything, it made it worse, as Redhead's lovely smile was replaced by a deep scowl.

"Mummy issues," she muttered into her vodka martini as she gulped down some more.

There was a moment of silence, and Spencer awkwardly turned back to his beer, uncertain of what to say. Redhead downed the rest of her drink and exhaled loudly as the alcohol burned down her throat.

"Okay, stranger," she said, looking him squarely in the eye - her own eyes filled with the promise of challenge. "Come dance with me."

Spencer felt himself beginning to shake his head already. "I don't dance," he declined.

But Redhead was already off her stool and bolding tugging on his arm. "Maybe sober you doesn't dance," she said, with an air of drunk logic, "but this is drunk you. And I think drunk you likes to dance. Especially with drunk me."

Feeling the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile, Spencer got up off his seat, surprised to find he wobbled a little. As he stood up, Spencer realised how small Redhead seemed next to him. He found though, that as Redhead gave him another excited smile, flashing her imperfect orthodontia, that he was growing oddly endeared to the small, bossy creature in front of him.

Not wasting the opportunity, she grabbed his hand and plunged into the middle of the dance floor with him. Surprisingly, it wasn't too bad. Surrounded by plenty of sweaty, gyrating dancers, no one seemed particularly bothered by how atrociously he danced. He couldn't help but laugh at the dance moves Redhead pulled off, as she threw her hands into the air and moved without abandon.

As he "danced" with Redhead, laughing at whatever ridiculous moves she was creating, Spencer felt as though some of the troubles he'd been carrying around lately began to lift off his shoulders. Emboldened in a way he never was sober, he moved closer to her, putting his hands on her hips. Redhead's dancing slowed down, and before long, her head was on his chest, and they were slowly swaying to the pounding music.

"TEN SECONDS TO MIDNIGHT!" some rowdy drunken youth hollered next to them, effectively ruining the moment.

Redhead laughed a little into his chest, and looked up at him with that imperfect smile lighting up her whole face. Spencer felt his chest tighten a little, and he smiled back at her.

_3…_

_2…_

_1…_

In one of the boldest moments of his life, Spencer leaned down and kissed Redhead just as everyone started yelling, "Happy New Year!"

Spencer had probably one of the best moments of his life right then: kissing this awesome girl who was only wearing her pyjamas and a coat in the middle of a crowded dance floor on the count of midnight.

The moment was over all too quickly when someone knocked into them, jostling them both off balance. Redhead pulled away from him to righten herself, and took a moment to glance around at all the rowdy people that were surrounding them. Turning back to him, Redhead looked at Spencer conspiratorially, her eyes alight with promise.

"Come back with me," she half-shouted over the noise of everyone. "I mean, come back to my place," she said, growing steadily more flustered.

Spencer looked at her with a goofy smile on his face, unable to think of anything he'd rather do.

Taking that as a yes, Redhead drew him back to her for one more kiss, and then grabbed his hand and led him away from the most appallingly named bar in the history of the world.


	5. Thrice Met

**Thrice Met**

**2007**

_He was good, _Charlie thought.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd invited someone into her bed. Let alone a stranger she'd met in a bar. But he had been good. A little slow to start perhaps, but he was a quick study, and once he found all the right spots… _man_, he did not stop working them.

Charlie felt more relaxed than she could remember in a long time. Unwilling to let go of the feeling, she stayed awake long after her stranger fell asleep, long after the buzz of alcohol wore off, and just revelled in her recklessness. She felt empowered by her drunken act of promiscuity.

It felt goooooood.

Until the man next to her began to jerk in the throes of a nightmare.

"Please! Please, I don't want it!" he whimpered, tangling himself in the sheets.

Charlie stared at him, semi-horrified and uncertain how to act. "Erm," she started, awkwardly hovering her hands above him, not knowing how to provide comfort. "It's just a dream…" she trailed off, starting to feel frustrated. She didn't even know this man's name. She had no idea how to help him. She had no idea if he suffered from night terrors or any medical conditions.

Her drunken escapade seemed a lot less exciting now. Frustration continued to creep over her as she began to feel thoroughly stupid.

Clearing her throat, Charlie took a second to remind herself that she was an adult. She invited this man into her bed, and now he was her responsibility. Trying not to let her panic set in, she firmly said: "You are having a nightmare, and I need you to wake up now."

When that proved to have no effect, she sighed harshly in exasperation, and grabbed one of his arms to stop him from flailing. "Shhhh," Charlie frantically soothed him, instinctively moving closer to wrap him in her arms.

As the stranger's movements began to slow, Charlie felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. She didn't get enough sleep on a regular basis as it was, she didn't have the energy for this drama.

Just as she was beginning to create scenarios in her head that would get the stranger to wake up and leave, he woke up. And once she saw the wild and terrified look in his eyes, she knew she would never be able to make him leave on good conscience. So instead, she gently wiped his hair away from his sweaty brow.

"Hello stranger," she said quietly. The wild look in his eyes began to diminish as he took in her form.

"Sorry," the stranger said, clearing his throat. His cheeks were beginning to flush with embarrassment.

"Don't apologise," she said kindly. They sat there in silence for a moment, before she added: "Look, I know that we don't know each other at all, but I think you have something on your mind. And I just wanted to let you know that I can listen to whatever it is… if you want," she added awkwardly.

There was silence for a long moment, and Charlie was already beginning to mentally wack herself repeatedly on the head for her uncommon and _extremely _awkward act of reaching out, when he spoke.

"This year," the stranger began, before he backtracked. "I mean, last year, now, isn't it? Anyway, last year was…_ hell_ for me."

Charlie quickly shut down any sarcastic remarks floating around in her brain, and contended herself with settling into bed more comfortably so she could give this man her undivided attention.

Nervously, he continued: "It kind of started at work, actually. My work is stressful… dangerous… but I love it."

Charlie nodded, imagining the stress of the medical profession. Perhaps the man was a doctor. She was familiar with the pressure; how it could tear someone apart.

"But… _something_ happened," he said, and Charlie got the impression he was choosing his words carefully. "And I was… _given _enough dilaudid once that I developed an addiction."

Charlie continued to nod automatically, half of her mind running over the effects of dilaudid and the other half concentrating on peeking down at his inner arms. Sure enough, there were the tell-tale signs of healed needle wounds. Charlie steeled herself a little, looking back up at his face. There was something very vulnerable about this stranger: lying in her bed naked, his eyes filled with sincerity, opening his past up to her scrutiny. It took a lot of courage to confess something like that, and Charlie found herself extremely reluctant to react badly. So, taking a small breath, she mentally ran through all her negative feelings regarding the fact that he had confessed to being an addict, and locked them all away inside a box.

"It was _given _to you?" she asked quietly, tracing her fingers over the little needle holes. As she fully turned her attention to it, her observant eye noted that some of the scars weren't perfect. "Looks like you put up a bit of a struggle."

The stranger took a deep, shaky breath. "It was done by a man suffering from a fractured psyche. He thought administering dilaudid to me would… _ease_ my pain," he choked out. "He thought he was being kind."

Charlie stroked his head again, feeling there were no words to help here.

"But I finally started getting help," he said. "I have a wonderful team at work. They all supported me, helped me get back on track… especially one of my friends. His name is Jason Gideon."

"Sounds like a good friend," Charlie tested out, uncertain.

"He was my best friend," he said immediately. "More than that, he was my mentor. Someone I could rely on."

"I'm sorry," Charlie said sadly.

"What?" the stranger broke out of his story to look at her.

Charlie froze up, unsure if she'd said something wrong. "You said _was_," she explained.

"Oh, he's not dead," the stranger brushed off, making Charlie feel like the biggest idiot in the world. "He suffered a horrible tragedy because of our work. He wants to cut all ties with that reminder, I guess," he added sadly.

"Oh," Charlie said. _I'm sorry_ always seemed like such an inadequate thing to say, but what else was there? Silence rolled on as she mentally struggled to find the right words to say.

"Erm…" Charlie began, feeling horribly unsure of herself. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd tried to comfort someone. "I have insomnia."

"What?" the stranger asked, looking at her in utter confusion.

"I have insomnia," Charlie repeated with more certainty, sitting up in bed. "And serious workaholic tendencies."

"Okay…" the stranger said. "I'm not entirely up to speed with the connection here."

Fighting the urge to feel foolish about revealing some of her personal issues to a complete stranger, Charlie ploughed on: "I'm also power hungry. I love having authority and it makes me slightly bossy."

"Okay," the man said slowly, looking completely lost for words.

"My point is," Charlie said, clearing her throat in embarrassment, "everyone has their imperfections. Everyone has something bad that happens to them in their lives. We live in a tragic world."

"I'm not certain this is how you're meant to start a pep talk," the man said, with an edge of humour to his voice.

"Shut up," Charlie said. "I'm not an overly warm person, I don't enjoy talking about my feelings – this is hard for me. So, shut up. Let me talk for two seconds."

Inhaling deeply, she started up again. "Okay, so we live in a tragic world, everyone's life has some screwy bits," she recapped. "When I was younger, I used to think that it gets better. Like, the high school bullies always end up working low grade jobs for the rest of their lives and the bad people always get caught and put in jail."

The man opened his mouth again, but Charlie continued, interrupting him. "Now that I'm older, I _know_ that doesn't happen all the time," she said, sadly. "The bad guys don't always get caught. The world keeps turning, and sometimes you're just stuck dealing with the fact that your brother's gone and your mother drinks too much. Hypothetically," she added.

"But…" she said, "I feel like this screwy stuff: that's what defines us. We are going to be fantastic human beings that live perfectly normal lives and make a difference to at least someone, somehow_. _For me, it's my job that does that," she said, a small smile creeping onto her face. "My job is my purpose. It helps me fight the figurative darkness."

The stranger was quiet for a second next to her. "Thank you," he finally decided on. "For listening," he clarified. "And for sharing some of your life with me."

"You're welcome," Charlie said.

"Just… perhaps next time you're trying to give someone a pep talk, don't lead with "The world is a tragic place." It kind of gives off a negative vibe…"

Charlie threw a pillow at him. The stranger caught it with a laugh that made the whole atmosphere seem lighter, and Charlie grinned at his new lightness.

"Seriously, thank you," he repeated softly, his eyes filled with sincerity.

Charlie smiled at him. Without any more words, she rolled over and relaxed into the stranger's body as he held her. Within half an hour, she was asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Charlie woke to the annoyingly persistent sound of her ringtone.

Accidentally kicking the stranger in her hurry to disentangle herself and answer her phone, Charlie answered with a groggy, "Hello?"

"Doctor Perkins, I'm sorry to wake you." The annoyingly awake-sounding voice of Aaron Hotchner rang through her ears. "Listen, I know I said I'd give you time to consider my job offer, but my team has a case that I could really use your help with."

"It's my day off," Charlie groaned, hiding under her covers. She completely missed the amused look the stranger was giving her. She didn't even take her days off, but it was the principle of the matter.

"Three dead bodies, killed by the same unsub but with three entirely different causes of death."

Charlie's mind started racing with the possibilities. "Damn it, Hotchner," she hissed, getting out from bed, and scrambling around her room to find clean clothes. Looking back to the stranger, she tried to mouth her apologies, but he was busy on his own phone and not listening to her. "I'll be there in twenty," she said exasperatedly, before hanging up.

Across the room, the stranger was also scrambling around her room for his clothes. "I'll be there in thirty minutes," he said, before hanging up.

"Duty calls," Charlie said when they made eye contact.

"Yeah," he said, trailing off awkwardly with nothing to say. "Me too…"

"So…" she dragged out, feeling like an awkward teenager. "Nice talking. You can let yourself out though, I believe. Because I need to get showered… You know, work and all…"

"Ah yes, pathological workaholic," he said.

Charlie shot him a glare, and he tried to backtrack: "Not that that's bad, I was just saying-"

"Goodbye," she said, trying to remain highly dignified, "See you around… Stranger from The Bar."

_Shit,_ Charlie thought, turning away from him and heading to her shower. "Aren't you the epitome of class and dignity?" she muttered angrily as she locked herself away in her bathroom.

* * *

Spencer Reid was not having a good day.

Well, it had started out fine, in all fairness. He'd managed to kiss a lovely woman with flaming red hair and get invited back to her house for one of the most amazing nights of his life.

It would have been fantastic, except for the nightmare. Even then, Redhead had comforted him as best she could. It all went beautifully, until they'd both been called into work and she'd kicked him out of her apartment before they could even talk about what happened, _or even exchange names, God._

Spencer cursed as he got into the elevator at work.

He'd had to dash home to get changed and shower as well, which meant that he was late to work. The team had probably already assembled, and was discussing the case without him.

And he hadn't even gotten coffee yet.

He walked past the bull pen at the speed of lightning, and promptly burst into the conference room. He came to a dead stop as he recognised a shock of familiar red hair bent over a pathology report.

"Ah, Reid, you're finally here," Hotch said, with a reprimanding look. "I'd like you to meet the newest part-time addition to the team."

The Redhead looked up, and Reid saw a copy of his own surprise flitter across her face before it was gone, leaving her face emotionally indifferent.

"Reid, this is Doctor Charlie Perkins. Doctor Perkins, this is Doctor Spencer Reid."

This time the shock was blatant on her – Charlie's – face, and Spencer felt his face mirror her look of absolute surprise.

"Well, shit," Charlie said.


	6. My Dearest Charlie

**My Dearest Charlie**

**2007**

"So," Garcia declared, "that was officially weird."

Charlie plonked her butt down on one of Garcia's desks, nudging a keyboard away with her feet. She had her lunch in one hand, and wasted no time digging into her burger. "They didn't need me," she said, her words muffled by her food. "My time's better spent here."

"Mmhmm," Garcia said, raising a sassy eyebrow. "Honey, you aren't fooling anyone."

"It's true!" Charlie protested, stuffing some more food in her mouth. "There was no point of me going to Portland. We got a huge mix up at our department where someone messed up a transfer of some cold cases. And now I have to deal with them all, because of confidentiality and yada yada yada."

"Sure," Garcia said casually. "So, you completely chickening out on the Portland case had nothing to do with a certain Spencer Reid?"

Charlie had conveniently taken a large mouthful of burger, and tried to avoid answering.

"Please," Garcia scoffed. "You talk with food in your mouth all the time."

Charlie still refused to talk, pointedly glaring at Garcia as she took another bite of food.

"Fine, fine," Garcia said, turning away from her computer to fully give her attention to Charlie. "Here's what I do know, though," she said, and Charlie felt worry pool into her stomach at the thought of Garcia digging through her past with her super computer powers. "Pretty Boy walked into the conference room today and both you and him that couldn't stand to look at each other for more than three seconds. This is not including the fact that you cursed the second you saw him," Garcia added as an afterthought.

Charlie finished chewing slowly. "I'm sorry, Garcia," she said when her mouth was clear, "but this is none of your damn business."

"Oh," Garcia said slowly, turning around to tap away at her computer. Charlie looked away, regret seeping into her as she recognised the hurt in Garcia's voice.

The appeal of the burger quickly fading, Charlie wrapped up her food and threw it in the bin. "Look, Garcia," she said, wiping the corners of her mouth. "I'm sorry. But it's not my story to tell."

"I understand," Garcia said, still not looking at Charlie. Charlie chewed her lip uncertainly, not knowing how to react. She couldn't tell Garcia about how she had met Spencer Red for the first time, three times. The circumstances were far from ideal on both ends, and both she and Spencer were entitled to their privacy.

"I have to call the team," Garcia said. "If you're not working the case, you need to leave."

Charlie hovered uncertainly for a moment, wondering how to make it better. No words came to mind though, and all she could do was cast a regretful look over her shoulder before leaving.

* * *

JJ sat down across from Reid, forcing him to acknowledge her in the close proximity afforded by the jet. "Talk to me, Reid," she demanded gently. "What's wrong?"

Reid looked up at her, and gave her a little smile. Concern flooded through JJ as she recognised the falseness in his smile, and her heart clenched a little. He hadn't been the same since he'd walked in this morning and seen Dr Perkins. Reid had been through so much hurt lately, JJ just wanted him to protect him. He was so young, for Heaven's sake. JJ felt some anger stir in her, as she internally directed the blame for the insincerity in Spencer's smile at Dr Charlie Perkins.

"I'm fine," Reid said. "Totally fine."

"Is it about Dr Perkins?" JJ continued to push. "Do you know her?"

"It's nothing," Spencer said obstinately. "Please, just... leave it be."

JJ nodded and moved away from Reid, moving to sit next to Morgan and Prentiss instead.

"I'm worried about Reid," she said simply, letting her tone verify the sincerity in her words.

Morgan nodded, and Prentiss looked at JJ. "I think it's his business," Prentiss said, looking at JJ. "Whatever issues they've got, it's for them to work out."

JJ shook her head. "First Tobias, and then Gideon, now this," she said bitterly. "I don't want to lose him again," she said, feeling a little desperation breaking into her voice. "We just got him back."

Morgan reached out and touched JJ's arm. "I understand," he said. "And trust me; I don't want to see Reid go back down that road either. But he has the right to make his own decisions." When he saw JJ move to interrupt, he added: "Gideon left all of us. We can't protect him from everything."

* * *

Charlie bobbed up and down to the music playing through her earphones, as she hovered over the file of one of her cold cases. The lab was blissfully empty, as everyone had gone home for the afternoon. Charlie however, preferred to be left alone with her thoughts, and instead poured over the file of a decapitated young boy. The case had gone cold after the body had been found five years ago.

Frowning, Charlie heaved the skeleton out of storage, and put it on her examination table. It had suffered a lot of scavenger damage, Charlie noted with irritation. The case was now depending on the evidence to be found in some grimy bones. No wonder the case had gone cold. This required expertise.

She tutted softly, and circled the body. "What happened to you?" she asked quietly, trying not to let the sadness set in. She was just beginning a quick initial examination, when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

With a sharp exhalation of annoyance, she pulled out her headphones and checked the caller id. "Aaron Hotchner" flashed up at her, and she rolled her eyes as she answered her phone.

"You know, I do have a job, Hotchner," she said, some of her irritation coming through in her voice.

"Erm, hi. It's uh… It's Spencer. I mean, Dr Spencer Reid."

Charlie jerked upright, trying to ignore the shock washing over her. "Hi," she said, accidentally knocking one of her trays of tools over. "Shit," she muttered, scrambling to pick up her tools. "Sorry."

"I'm getting that you have a love of that word," Spencer said. "Half of our interactions involve you swearing. And I should know: I have an eidetic memory."

"Sorry," Charlie said, feeling her cheeks starting to heat up. "I didn't mean – I just spilled my –" Clearing her throat, Charlie mentally wacked herself on the head. She was acting more like her fifteen year old self than her current twenty-nine year old self. "What's up?" she asked casually.

"Hotch asked me to call you," Spencer said. "He said I could get your number off his phone."

"Oh," Charlie said, feeling entirely stupid. Of course the call was work related. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Yeah, we've found another body," Spencer said. "The file's been sent through your email, and Hotch was wondering if you could just take a quick look at it."

"Sure thing," Charlie muttered, swinging around to boot up her computer. Awkward silence filled the line as she waited for the computer to start up. "So, how are you?" she asked.

There was silence on the line for a moment before Charlie remembered how Spencer had told her last night that he'd been through his own personal circle of hell recently. When he'd been in her bed. Naked.

"Sorry," she blurted out, mortified. "Sorry, I know – I'm just –"

"I'm okay," he said, and Charlie felt relieved as she heard a smile in his tone. "I talked over Gideon's leaving with Prentiss – I believe you met her – and I'm feeling okay today. Everyone asks me about you though," he added. "How we met."

"Yeah, which time?" Charlie muttered absently as her computer started, and she preoccupied herself with opening her emails. Cringing, she realised that the first time they met might not be something Spencer wanted to think about, ever, and tried to backtrack. "I mean-" she cleared her throat. "Garcia grilled me too."

"What did you say?" he asked, and Charlie noted the trepidation that slipped into his voice.

"I said nothing," she said firmly. "What happens between us is our concern, and if we haven't even figured that out yet, why is it anyone else's goddamn business?"

"Well, we're a pretty close-knit team. We share a lot," Spencer said.

Charlie inhaled slowly as she tried to fight her frustration. _What is it with these people and talking about their feelings at work? _she wondered. She was reluctant to voice her irritation though, as her first conversation with Spencer post-third meeting was a lot less awkward than she expected. So instead, she turned to her emails. Opening the digital case file, she took a quick look.

"I'm seeing some deep abrasions and bruising," Charlie said, looking at the pictures. "Those are typical defensive wounds for drowned victims."

Spencer didn't comment on her changing the topic, and followed. "We already know he was drowned," he said. "We found the victim in the water."

"Water doesn't always equal drowning," Charlie muttered absently. "It could be a dump site. Water is a fantastic forensic counter measure. Well, to some degree at least." She muttered the last sentence.

"I'm guessing that kind of thinking is why you're so good at your job. But the medical examiner here found water in the lungs," Spencer added.

"Then he was drowned. Plain and simple," Charlie said, closing her emails.

"Yeah, I think there's a connection with the drowning…" Spencer said, trailing off, tangled up in his thoughts. "I need to talk to Hotch," he said, hanging up.

"Okay, bye…" Charlie said to the dial tone.

* * *

The next day, Charlie walked back into the empty lab, coffee in hand. It was late in the afternoon, and all her co-workers had packed up for the day. Not Charlie though. More overtime work helped clear her mind of all the personal thoughts she wanted to escape. Work was her second-best way to escape everything.

And she was still out of vodka. So her first option was out, and instead she was in the lab.

She'd left the bones of the decapitated boy from yesterday in boiling water overnight to clean off all the grime. They'd still need another day to clean, but as Charlie watched the bones float in the water, she noticed something on the humerus. Plucking it out with some tongs, Charlie peered closer. There were four distinctive shapes _carved_ into the bone itself.

As she stared for a moment longer, Charlie felt apprehension wash over her as she made out the letters. An "xoxo" was carved into the humerus. Charlie backed into her office and rummaged through her desk to find the file so she could note her finding. Maybe she'd run her finding past Hotchner for his opinion on the psychology behind it. See how he liked being disturbed on a daily basis. When she finally found the file, a piece of paper fell out as she picked it up.

Bending over to pick up the paper, Charlie noticed it wasn't part of the file. It looked like it had a letter format.

Charlie gave a start as she recognised her name at the top, and as she began to read it, she felt her blood freeze over as anxiety filled her.

_Dearest Charlie,_

_The start of a new year with new beginnings, huh? Well, that's what everyone tells themselves, but we both know that's a bit of a lie. Let's take a look at your life, shall we?_

_Runaway father._

_Alcoholic mother._

_Missing brother._

_I personally don't think any of the Perkins have a chance in hell at a new start. _

_But don't worry. _

_You'll all be reunited soon._

_And I will enjoy every moment of watching you dance._

_Oh, and by the way. This case is my gift to you._

_xoxo_

Charlie felt her coffee slip from her hands.

Numbly, she moved to place the letter in one of the evidence bags. It made sense to maintain the integrity of the note, she thought numbly as her thoughts switched to autopilot.

As she tried to close the evidence bag, she noticed that her hands were shaking. Suddenly overcome with the need to have the letter out of her sight, she crumbled the evidence bag into a ball and shoved it into her pocket.

Belatedly, Charlie noticed that her spilled coffee was spreading all over the floor. She grabbed one of her cleaning cloths and all but collapsed onto her hands and knees to clean it up. As she became aware that the coffee was staining her lab coat, she tried to backtrack, but slipped and landed on her butt.

Charlie tried to get up, but suddenly her fear overwhelmed her and she couldn't find the energy to move from where she was. Hyperventilating, she gasped for air, consumed by panic. She tried to count to ten, she tried to take deep breaths – everything that usually worked for her, but she couldn't calm down.

Suddenly the door opened, and Charlie dimly registered that she would feel horrified if someone found her in her current position. She scrambled to stand, but couldn't find the energy to really move herself, so she just sat on the floor waiting to be found, surrounded by a pool of rapidly cooling coffee.

"Hello? Charlie?"

Charlie recognised Spencer Reid's voice, and closed her eyes in shame. _Of all people…_

"I just got back, and someone said you should still be here. Look, I'm sorry for hanging up on you," his voice rang out. "But I really think we should talk, so do you want to have dinner, or…"

His voice trailed off as he came into Charlie's view, and she subsequently came into his.

"I –I can't–" she gasped out, trying to move. "I can't – I can't – I don't –"

Spencer knelt down next to her, getting his own pants stained with coffee. Hesitantly, he placed an arm around her shoulder as she continued to hyperventilate. "Shhh," he said gently. "Calm down, deep breaths… Just breathe with me. In…" he started, taking an exaggerated breath in, "And out…" he said, breathing out slowly.

Charlie joined his breathing, leaning into his arm. After a few deep breaths, she felt the rate of her breathing gradually start to slow down. Wearily closing her eyes, Charlie rested back into Spencer's embrace and continued to take deep breaths. She was distantly aware of Spencer rubbing her arm, and felt a rush of warmth for the man sitting next to her. In cold coffee. On the floor of a morgue.

After a few more minutes, Charlie became painfully aware that the coffee on her clothes was freezing against her skin in the cold of the lab.

Taking a few more seconds to strengthen her resolve, she shifted away from Spencer. "I'm okay," she said, trying to make the words true.

"No, you're not," he said softly. But he stood up anyway, and gave her a hand up. "I'll take you home," he said simply.

Charlie didn't have the energy to argue, and allowed herself to be helped up.

As they got to the door, she baulked. Spencer noticed her hesitation. "People will see me," she whispered, gesturing to herself. Coffee soaked her jeans, and she was still wearing her white lab coat, which wasn't looking so white anymore - and she still hadn't even taken off her safety glasses. She was pretty sure she was also sporting a fantastic ghostly pale complexion.

Spencer looked at her. "You'll be with me," he said, gesturing to his own coffee stained pants. "We'll go together."

And so, as Charlie walked through the FBI Headquarters, past the curious eyes of her colleagues, all Charlie allowed herself to focus on was the warmth of Spencer's hand in hers as he led her through the exit and helped her into his car.

But though she tried her hardest, the one thing Charlie couldn't ignore was the rustling sound made by the evidence bag in her pocket with every step.


	7. Coffee and Tears

**2007**

**Coffee and Tears**

Spencer helped Charlie up the stairs to her apartment, his arm still around her as they walked in silence.

When they finally got to the top of the stairs, Charlie just shot a defeated look at her door, as though the physical effort of opening it just wouldn't be worth it, before she sat down on the stairs. Spencer felt some worry trickle into his stomach as he looked at Charlie. Though she was desperately trying to act normally, there was obvious tension in her body and she was listlessly staring at her feet, her head resting wearily against the wall.

Spencer sat down next to her, his mind spinning through all the possible scenarios that could have reduced Charlie, the bold woman who had charged into a bar wearing her pyjamas, to this absent creature. Taking a deep breath, he asked, "Do you want –"

"Don't."

That single word cut through the air with the sharpness of a dagger.

Spencer glanced over at Charlie in surprise. It would have almost been comical: the impossible angle she had contorted her body away from him; the pure effort she was putting into avoiding eye contact. Spencer felt any hope he had at reaching out was very quickly going to hell.

"Are you –"

"What is it with you people wanting to talk about your feelings all the time?" The words were ascerbic, and Spencer sighed a little. Her resistance was perfectly understandable. From what Spencer knew of her, Charlie Perkins was someone who prided herself on being strong. To be caught in a vulnerable state – she wouldn't want to think about it, she'd want to push the witness to her personal breakdown – him – away. Which was all perfectly understandable. And yet, Spencer found himself feeling disappointed. He wanted her to talk to him, to confide in him.

So he tried again.

"Okay then," he conceded. "So, we don't talk about that."

Charlie shifted around a little to look at him, raising an eyebrow critically.

"We'll talk about something else," Spencer endevoured.

Charlie bit her lower lip hard for a second, turning her bottom lip almost completely white and making that endearing little gap in her teeth visable. "Fine," she said, though her tone still conveyed some doubt. Spencer noted that she was facing him now. Which was good. Body language was a good indicator of how how attentive a person was being, ninety percent of the time. At least Charlie was intrigued.

"I have a question – I've been wondering ever since I saw you in the confrence room yesterday – well, since I was twelve, actually –"

"Please just spit it out," Charlie said sourly, a tortured expression on her face.

Spencer hesitated as the memory flitted through his mind. He saw Charlie in his mind's eye, as she was when she was sixteen; his saviour who was a year younger than his bullies had been, but regardless, possessed a gentleness that was absent among every other child Spencer had met at their school. His memories were all of a kind woman who had helped him get through one of the most horrific moments of his life.

He remembered the spark of life in her eyes that Spencer couldn't help but be drawn to, even at his young age. The Charlie of his memories had possessed an air of self-assurance, intelligence even; but even he had been suprised when he found her extensively detailed notebooks on human anatomy.

He'd been so hopeful that he'd finally found someone who understood. Someone who could keep up with him; who he could finally talk to in a school filled with children who had only ever demonstrated cruelty to him.

She'd said as much too. He could vividly see her turning to him in her small car, a laughing smile on her face as she said, "_Don't be a stranger at school, okay? Come see me. Weirdos unite!"_

But he'd never been able to find her. And the one time he had seen her in the hallways, she'd stared right through him as though he wasn't there.

It hurt him more than he cared to admit, and yesterday when he'd found out who she was – all these years later – he was filled with the unsatiable desire to find out why she'd avoided him. He wanted to know what happened to the girl who had spent fifteen minutes fighting to untie him from one of the Las Vegas High School's goalposts.

So, as tactfully as he could, he started: "I never saw you again after we met the very first time. At high school."

Charlie was silent, and Spencer felt her stiffening next to him.

"I thought that we could be friends, but … after that day you avoided me," he guessed. "Why?"

Charlie continued to sit in silence, so Spencer tried to push. "Was it me?" he asked hesitantly, speaking with the deep insecurities of his twelve year old self. "Were you ashamed of being seen with me?"

A look of horror dawned on Charlie's face. "God, what must you think of me that you could ever entertain the idea that I would have wanted to leave you there?"

"No –" Spencer tried to protest.

"I am not heartless, Spencer," Charlie interrupted bitterly. "Not once in my life have I ever regretted helping you. I just had things going on that had nothing to do with you. Just because we weren't best buds on the playground doesn't mean I could ever regret helping you."

Sensing that silence might be wise after the heat of her words, Spencer refused to rise to the bait, and instead gave Charlie the opportunity to talk. Watching as she inhaled deeply, Spencer couldn't help but draw the conclusion that she'd probably had some sort of therapist in the past that advised she breathe deeply or count to ten as a way of handling stressful or frustrating situations. Which was indicative of the past trauma Charlie kept implying, but-

With great effort, Spencer strove to ignore his inner profiler, and devoted his full attention to Charlie.

"That day… when we first met…" Charlie gulped. "Do you remember why I was at the oval at that time?"

"Of course," Spencer replied, perhaps a little two quickly. "You said you had a younger brother, and you were picking him up from soccer training. You had that ridiculously big bag your mum had forced you to carry around too." When Charlie gave him a weird look, he raised a finger to his temple. "Eidetic memory," he said as a means of explanation.

"Stupid freaky deaky genius stuff, you mean," she said, her ferocious scowl slipping back onto her face.

"What happened that day then?" Spencer asked, his tone getting a little snippy, despite his best intentions. "Because from where I stand: I was left alone! I had no one at that place, and then I found you! Or you found me, and I thought that would all change. But then you left, just like everyone else, so tell me! What happened?" Charlie pressed her lips into a white, thin line and started to stand up. "Charlie. Charlie!" Spencer raised his voice and reached out for her. Holding onto her forearm, he looked at her straight – even as she avoided his eyes. "I want to be here for you," he said slowly. "Just… talk to me."

Charlie took a deep, shaky breath and sat down slowly. A minute passed with them just sitting there in silence, as Spencer waited with renewed patience and Charlie thought about what to say.

"You know you really suck at changing the subject," Charlie said ruefully.

Spencer let the jab slide, waiting patiently for an answer.

"My younger brother's name was Riley," Charlie began, her voice uncharateristically tender. "And he loved soccer. He lived and breathed for the sport, and every Wednesday, I would pick him up in the afternoon from training because Mum was busy lecturing at the university."

Spencer observed the way her face grew soft and wistful with her reflection, not a trace of the scowl visable.

"Except for that one particular Wednesday," Charlie said. "When I arrived and he wasn't there because training had been cancelled. I assumed he'd just walked home – it wasn't far – and so I was just heading back to my car, and then… I heard you," Charlie said, looking at Spencer. "And I saw… what they'd done to you. And so, I forgot everything. Nothing existed in that moment except for you, and my only thoughts were how I was going to help you. So I did, and nothing could ever make me regret that," she added firmly.

"So, after I dropped you home, I drove back to my house. I expected mum to be a little worried about where I'd been, and why Riley had walked home all by himself: the usual worried stuff," she said with a little flippant hand gesture. "But I drove down my street, and my eyes were stunned by all these flashing lights: red, blue and white. And then I started to feel scared. So I jumped out of my car and ran to my mother, and for just – for just one second, she was happy to see me. But then she saw that my brother wasn't with me, and she began shaking me and screaming –"

She broke off for a moment, before she took another deep breath and continued: "The police had all kinds of questions of course. All the usual, scary questions: When was the last time you saw him? What colour shirt was he wearing? They told us about other children that had gone missing in the area, took us through cold cases and asked us if my brother had anything in common with these other dead boys."

Spencer put his arm around Charlie, and tried to ignore how very similar it was to hugging a rock.

"And then the 24 hours passed – the critical time limit for finding him alive. And then before I knew it, it had been a week since he'd gone. And then a month. And then two, three, four… And they still had nothing. We were told… We were told not to be hopeful anymore." Charlie began to run her hands through her hair, clutching it as though she intended to rip it from the roots.

"And … I could tell my mum blamed me. _How could you let him walk home by himself? _She used to ask me that all the time, when she'd drunk too much. Which happened far too often after that. So, she avoided me. And we never talked about it. And I became _consumed _with this bitterness and guilt and – and we never talked about it. So as mum started to get more and more dependent on alcohol, it was honestly all I could do to get out of bed and go to school in the mornings," Charlie said, her eyes shiny as she looked at him. "I had nothing to give you anymore, Spencer. I lost all my friends. I had nothing… no joy or kindness left in me to give anyone."

"And then one day… I was picking mum up from the university, and I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall. And there was someone giving a presentation on the forensic sciences – looking at anthropology or something. And I began to think: I know all this stuff. I know that the ossification of bones can be indicative of age. What if I could help someone like this?

"And suddenly, I had all this beautiful clarity. So, I began to study again. I had a purpose, a drive to do something again. And it was wonderful. I burried myself in learning. I accelerated my way through my degree, my fellowship, my research projects – and then I began to help people, in the best way I knew how. And I felt as though a piece of me healed a little bit. Because if I can help people find the closure that I will probably _never _have…" Charlie trailed off. "My life can be worth something."

Spencer put his arm around her, and gently kissed the top of her head. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for telling me that." He hoped his eyes conveyed his earnestness. Charlie looked up at him wearily. "But…" he added, "your life is worth so much more than your work."

"Can we go inside now?" Charlie asked, sniffling a bit as she tried to discreetly wipe her face.

Spencer stood up and helped her inside. As she got inside, Charlie turned on the lights and Spencer loitered awkwardly with her in the hallway.

"That coffee's going to stain unless you get it out soon," he mumbled, trying to fill the silence.

Charlie looked down at herself, as if she had only just remembered the state of her attire. Suddenly, she violently tore off her lab coat and threw it onto the floor. Spencer glimpsed the corner of an evidence bag poking out of the coat, before Charlie kicked it into a crumpled heap.

"I need to shower," Charlie announced briskly, as she started to pull off her shirt. "I smell like coffee, and I'm cold."

"Aaaaahhhh…" Spencer couldn't help but stare, stunned at how this was panning out.

"Join me," Charlie said, her eyes implying that it was more of a demand than an invitation. "I hear coffee stains if it's left for too long," she said, pulling his shirt out of his pants.

"Aaaaahhhhh…." Spencer was flabbergasted. It was one thing to be drunk and in this situation, it was an entirely different thing to be entirely sober with a girl who had just had an emotional breakdown.

But as Charlie put her arms around his neck and drew him down to meet her lips, he was a lost cause.

So, he allowed Charlie to unbutton his shirt, and in turn unzipped her jeans and helped her shimmy out of them. Trying not to get too caught up in how incredibly sexy that was, Spencer started to unzip his own pants, but paused momentarily. He wasn't armed with drunk boldness this time, and Spencer was left trying not to feel inadequate as he struggled to take his pants off in front of her. Charlie seemed to understand this, and she halted his progress with her own hands. Slowly she unzipped his pants, and looked straight at him. "You are wonderful," she said softly. "Don't get shy on me now."

Then his pants were off before he knew it, and he and Charlie were kissing again. As he turned his attentions to her neck, and a mix between a whimper and a moan burst from her mouth, he began to feel more empowered. More like the man who had come home with Charlie last night.

And then, as they paused so Charlie could lead him to her shower, he couldn't help feeling … more endeared towards her. Like he understood her a bit better, and he started to hope that as she grew more comfortable with him, her sharp, cold demeanor might begin to soften a little. He was optimistic for the first time in forever that he had found someone he could share himself with. And it felt good.

But as he followed Charlie down the hall and stepped on her discarded lab coat, Spencer didn't even look down at the sound of plastic crinkling under his feet. He didn't notice the letter in the evidence bag, or read the words that had scared Charlie.

He was lost to his own happiness, for the first time in months entirely independent of dilaudid and Gideon.

And as he began to slowly and attentively wash all traces of coffee and tears from her, he couldn't help but feel extremely lucky that Charlie Perkins was back in his life.


End file.
